Gerda Smelik (Dutch, 1964–), Advent, 2006. Acrylic, oil paint, gold leaf, paper, wood chips, sand, glue, and photographs on canvas, 160 × 160 cm.
Dutch artist Gerda Smelik says about this mixed media piece:
Advent, a period of reflection and expectation, is portrayed by a globe with a fetus inside. The dark colours stand for the brokenness of life; the light around the fetus and the rays of gold around the globe already announce a better world. When you look at the painting up close, you discover that the suffering of the world is depicted by means of portraits of people in danger and distress.
Make a womb of all this wounded world Make a womb of all this wounded world And make a womb of all this wounded world
Come to be born, to bear us to our birth Make these rags of time our swaddling bands O hidden spring of light Come to us Wisdom, come unspoken Name Come Root, and Key, and King, and holy Flame O quickened little wick so tightly curled Be folded with us into time and place Unfold for us the mystery of grace
Make a womb of all this wounded world Make a womb of all this wounded world And make a womb of all this wounded world
“O Come, O Come, O Hidden Spring of Light” is from Stamper’s PRIMEMOVER, a double album of experimental jazz and classical chamber works commissioned by Resurrection Philadelphia from 2015 to 2021 for services marking holy days and seasons in the church calendar: Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, Easter, Pentecost, and Advent.
PRIMEMOVER is “a meditation on the Divine benediction over our corporeal world,” Stamper writes. “The hovering One . . . has bounded into our wounded world and unbound us from our own trajectory. . . . The abstract is made concrete.”
And, he continues, “It might just be the only record out there featuring everyone from members of the Dirty Projectors to Marilynne Robinson to Beyoncé-collaborators to the former Archbishop of Canterbury to avant-classical violin players from the Czech Republic.”
I love to see churches commissioning smart, exploratory, unconventional music like this!
Nicolas V. Sanchez (Mexican American, 1983–), Escape, 2017. Oil on canvas, 61 × 76 cm.
LISTEN: “Do You Hear What I Hear” | Words by Noël Regney, 1962 | Music by Gloria Shayne, 1962 | Performed by Foreign Fields, 2016
Said the night wind to the little lamb Do you see what I see? Way up in the sky, little lamb Do you see what I see? A star, a star, dancing in the night With a tail as big as a kite With a tail as big as a kite
Said the little lamb to the shepherd boy Do you hear what I hear? Ringing through the sky, shepherd boy Do you hear what I hear? A song, a song high above the trees With a voice as big as the sea With a voice as big as the sea
Said the shepherd boy to the mighty king Do you know what I know? In your palace warm, mighty king Do you know what I know? A Child, a Child shivers in the cold Let us bring him silver and gold Let us bring him silver and gold
Said the king to the people everywhere Listen to what I say! Pray for peace, people, everywhere Listen to what I say! The Child, the Child sleeping in the night He will bring us goodness and light He will bring us goodness and light
Bing Crosby’s recording of “Do You Hear What I Hear?” from 1963 was one of the tracks on the Christmas compilation album that we played on Christmas mornings in my house growing up. As a kid, I knew nothing of the gravitas of the carol, thinking it was only about a cute little lamb, a shepherd boy, and a humble king who go to see the newborn baby Jesus. While this is the ostensible narrative of the song, embedded in the lyrics is a fear of apocalyptic disaster, as it was written during the Cuban Missile Crisis, which lasted from October 16 to November 20, 1962. Involving the Soviet deployment of ballistic missiles to newly communist Cuba, which could hit much of the eastern United States in minutes (this in response to the US stationing missiles in Turkey, in range of Soviet territory), this thirty-five-day confrontation is the closest the Cold War came to escalating into a full-scale nuclear war. Though this particular crisis was averted, nuclear-related tensions and anxiety would continue to flare up for years to come.
“Do You Hear What I Hear?” is by the songwriting duo Noël Regney and Gloria Shayne, who were married at the time. Regney studied at music conservatories in Strasbourg, Salzburg, and Paris, but World War II interrupted his education. Despite being a Frenchman from Alsace, he was drafted by force into the Nazi army—but he soon deserted and joined a group of French resistance fighters. He survived the war and began his music career. Touring internationally with singer Lucienne Boyer, he eventually settled in Manhattan in 1952, working for television shows as an arranger, composer, and conductor. It was in New York that he met musician Gloria Shayne, who would become his wife.
The two collaborated together on a number of original songs, but “Do You Hear” is by far their most popular. In a reversal of their usual roles, Regney wrote the lyrics and Shayne wrote the music. The song, as the writers have said in interviews, is a plea for peace amid the imminent threat of nuclear annihilation.
Released December 7, 1962, the debut recording with the Harry Simeone Chorale sold over a quarter million copies, and Crosby’s cover the following year made the song an international hit.
The song traces the passing along of the good news of the birth of a savior: the wind tells the lamb, the lamb tells the shepherd, the shepherd tells the king, and the king tells the world. These character types are common in stories about Christ’s nativity, but not all the ones in the song map directly onto the ones mentioned in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. The king is neither Herod nor one of the magi, but rather an aspirational figure—a world leader who wields his power responsibly, calling all nations to the way of goodness, peace, and light represented by the infant sleeping in the cold, God incarnate. Jesus is never named as the child, but his identity can be inferred from the context.
The song is structured as a series of interrogatives: do you see a star, do you hear a song, do you know the child who shivers? The last stanza, though, is an imperative: pray for peace.
Once we recognize the world events that informed the writing of “Do You Hear,” some of the lines take on a double meaning. For example, the star with “a tail as big a kite” is not just a celestial body leading the way to the Christ child, but also a nuclear missile. The “song” that rings through the sky “with a voice as big as the sea” is, on one level, a hearty angelic choir, but on another, it’s the thunderous clap of a bomb dropping, the blast echoing out in waves. The menace, the terror, is veiled beneath sentimental language and imagery. But it’s there for those with ears to hear, beckoning us to repentance—to turn from our violence, our lust for power and supremacy, our arsenal building, and to instead embrace the peaceable kingdom of Christ.
“Do You Hear What I Hear?” has been covered many, many times over its sixty years of existence. I’m partial to the cover by the electronic folk duo Foreign Fields of Nashville, consisting of Eric Hillman and Brian Holl. It eliminates the marchlike rhythm of the original as well as the choir and orchestra and, with just a guitar and solo vocals, captures well the sense of longing and lament. “He will bring us goodness” is sung six consecutive times, as if the singer is trying to convince himself of the truth of that promise, to bolster his hope through repetition.
Phoenix, from the Aberdeen Bestiary (Aberdeen University Library MS 24, fol. 56r), England, ca. 1200
Solstice of the dark, the absolute
Zero of the year. Praise God
Who comes for us again, our lives
Pulled to their fisted knot,
Cinched tight with cold, drawn
To the heart’s constriction; our faces
Seamed like clinkers in the grate,
Hands like tongs—Praise God
That Christ, phoenix immortal,
Springs up again from solstice ash,
Drives his equatorial ray
Into our cloud, emblazons
Our stiff brow, fries
Our chill tears. Come Christ,
Most gentle and throat-pulsing Bird!
O come, sweet Child! Be gladness
In our church! Waken with anthems
Our bare rafters! O phoenix
Forever! Virgin-wombed
And burning in the dark,
Be born! Be born!
William Everson (1912–1994) was an American poet who gained fame in the San Francisco literary renaissance of the 1950s, being classified as part of the Beat movement. Deeply influenced by the poetry of Robinson Jeffers, he wrote about the California landscape, nonviolence, the biblical narrative, and erotic love. He was married twice before converting to Catholicism in 1948, and in 1951 he entered the Dominican Order as Brother Antoninus. However, to pursue a romantic relationship with the woman who would become his third wife, he renounced his monastic vows in 1969, returning to secular life but maintaining his Christian faith and his poetic vocation. He also wrote literary criticism, taught at university, and founded a small press. His collected poems are published in three volumes.
Pablo Picasso (Spanish, 1881–1973), Ronde au Soleil (Sun Circle), 1959. Color lithograph on Arches wove paper, 19 1/2 × 17 1/2 in. (49.5 × 44.5 cm).
In this color lithograph, writes the Masterworks Fine Art gallery in San Francisco,
figures frolic happily in a circle, reminiscent of the sardana, a traditional Catalonian dance that appears in Picasso’s body of work. Some figures clutch flowers in their hands, others hold hands, signifying the strong bonds that can exist between people, and many also throw their hands over their heads with joy. Flowers fill the center of the circle as well, as if those dancing have been tossing them into the middle. None of the people are detailed with any facial features, but Picasso has done an inspiring job of bringing intense feeling through simple lines. The dancers abound with feeling, from their joyfully moving feet, to their hands opened wide towards the sky. Above the circle of youths is a glowing yellow sun, emblazoned with the outline of a white dove . . . [that] encapsulates the feeling of the dancers – both the hope that bursts forth from them, and also the freedom that the hope implies.
LISTEN: “But for You Who Fear My Name” by Lenny Smith, 1975 | Arranged and performed by The Welcome Wagon on Welcome to The Welcome Wagon, 2008
But for you who fear my name The sun of righteousness will rise With healing in his wings And you shall go forth again And skip about like calves Coming from their stalls at last
You shall be my very own On the day that I Caused you to be my special home I shall spare you as a man Has compassion on his son Who does the best he can
Written in God’s voice by way of the prophet Malachi, this song is by Leonard Earl Smith Jr. of Philadelphia; it appears on his 2000 album Deep Calls to Deep with the title “But For You.” Vito and Monique Aiuto, who comprise the Brooklyn-based duo The Welcome Wagon, recorded their own homespun arrangement, replete with stomps and claps, for their 2008 debut album Welcome to The Welcome Wagon.
The song is based on Malachi 4:2 and 3:17:
But for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings. You shall go out leaping like calves from the stall. . . .
They shall be mine, says the LORD of hosts, my special possession on the day when I act, and I will spare them as parents spare their children who serve them.
“Fear” in the song’s first verse is used in the archaic sense of to give reverence to or to be in awe of. God records the names of those who fear him in a “book of remembrance,” states Malachi 3:16.
I love the image in Malachi of baby cows being released from their pens to frolic freely in the fields, to skip and to play, which are likened in their joy to God’s redeemed on the last day when the “sun of righteousness” arises on them at last—when they are liberated.
The English language makes possible a wordplay on “sun” that is not in the original Hebrew, such that we can identify the bright solar orb with God’s Son, Jesus, who sheds his light upon us. (Get it? Sun/Son.) The “wings” of the sun are its rays.
You may recognize this poetic image from “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”:
Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness! Light and life to all He brings, risen with healing in His wings.
The second verse of “But for You Who Fear My Name” opens by celebrating how God has made his home among us—in the flesh in the person of Jesus, and then by sending his Spirit to reside in those who believe. Malachi is referring specifically to Israel as God’s people, his treasured possession, but the New Testament writers apply those epithets more broadly to the new people God was forming through the work of Christ—that is, the church (e.g., 1 Pet. 2:4–10).
The song then references God’s parental mercy and grace in fully embracing us children who want to please him but who fail so many times.
Larain Briggs (British, 1960–), Alpha and Omega, 2019. Oil over acrylic underpainting on stretched canvas, 100 × 100 cm.
“Behold, I am coming soon. . . . I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”
—Revelation 22:12–13
This apocalyptic landscape painting by British artist Larain Briggs was on display at London’s gallery@oxo as part of the 2021 Chaiya Art Awards exhibition “God Is . . .” Briggs’s creative practice is centered on Jungian theory, and in Alpha and Omega she addresses the current “metacrisis,” the complexity of global issues (ecological, cultural, economic, etc.) that interrelate and present an existential threat of unknown magnitude. “The archetypal imagery in the book of Revelation offers the means to understand and process the dark times in which we live,” Briggs told me.
In the exhibition catalog Briggs explains, “Although I perceived the painting to be a vision of the end, it is full of light and hope. The end can equally be viewed as a beginning.”
When I saw this work, I was intrigued. Its title evokes Jesus’s self-declaration in the book of Revelation as the first and the last, and visually, it appears that something significant is in process.
In the center of the composition a faint circular form rests on a heavily textured, curved platform of cloud and smoke (“Behold, he is coming with the clouds . . .” [Rev. 1:7]). At this focal point, turbulence resolves into tranquility and darkness gives way to light. I see the image as the earth being transfigured by the arrival of the King.
The body of water at the bottom may be a reference to the “sea of glass mingled with fire” in Revelation 15:2.
LISTEN: “The King Shall Come” | Words by John Brownlie, based on miscellaneous Greek sources, 1907 | Music: American folk tune from Kentucky Harmony, 1816; arr. Minna Choi, 2020 | Performed by Tiffany Austin, 2020
The King shall come when morning dawns And light triumphant breaks; When beauty gilds the eastern hills And life to joy awakes.
Not as of old, a little child To bear, and fight, and die, But crowned with glory like the sun That lights the morning sky.
O brighter than the rising morn, When He victorious rose, And left the lonesome place of death, Despite the rage of foes;—
O brighter than that glorious morn Shall this fair morning be, When Christ, our King, in beauty comes, And we His face shall see.
The King shall come when morning dawns And earth’s dark night is past;— O haste the rising of that morn, That day that aye shall last.
And let the endless bliss begin, By weary saints foretold, When right shall triumph over wrong, And truth shall be extolled.
The King shall come when morning dawns, And light and beauty brings;— Hail! Christ the Lord; Thy people pray, ‘Come quickly, King of kings.’
“The King Shall Come” expresses hopeful longing for the return of Christ, which will bring about a new and lasting morn and the final passing of “earth’s dark night.” Stanza 2 contrasts Jesus’s first coming in suffering and struggle and sacrifice, his glory mostly veiled, with his second, when his glory will be unmistakable, his rule uncontested. The victory of that day, the hymnist writes, will be even more exhilarating than that of Christ’s resurrection, because it is total.
This hymn was written in the early twentieth century by the Scottish Presbyterian minister John Brownlie (1859–1925), who cites inspiration from the hymns of the Greek Orthodox Church. It was originally published in 1907 in Hymns from the East. In the introduction Brownlie writes, “The hymns are less translations or renderings, and more centos and suggestions. . . . The Greek has been used as a basis, a theme, a motive.” He differentiates this approach from that used in his previous volumes, which contain “truthfully rendered translations from the originals.”
Though the hymn is often attributed to an anonymous ancient Greek writer, most scholars consider it an original text by Brownlie that reflects his wide knowledge of Greek hymnody, as no Greek original has ever been found. It’s possible that the lines are a composite and expansion of fragments found in the Greek, but really, it’s a pastiche that nods to the centrality of light in Orthodox theology.
This wistful arrangement by City Church San Francisco worship arts assistant Minna Choi is performed by guest artist Tiffany Austin, a Bay Area jazz vocalist. The other musicians are Adam Shulman on piano, Jeff Marrs on drums, Jason Muscat on bass, and Wil Blades on organ. Their version omits stanzas 5–6, as do several hymnals.
LECTURE: “Light in Sacred Space: Light from the Cave” by Matthew J. Milliner and Alexei Lidov, December 19, 2019, Bridge Projects, Los Angeles: This double lecture about the role of light in Christian spirituality and theology was organized to coincide with the premiere of 10 Columns, an immersive light installation by Phillip K. Smith III that Bridge Projects commissioned for their inaugural exhibition.
While the Light & Space movement was born in Southern California in the 1960s, in many ways it participates in a much longer history of artists in dialogue with the phenomena of light. This presentation by two art historians, Matthew Milliner and Alexei Lidov, will begin with Milliner exploring the unexpected resonance of Phillip K. Smith III’s work with Byzantine and Gothic traditions. Lidov will then expand on these ideas with his scholarship in the Eastern Orthodox tradition and its long history of engaging light and mysticism. What kinds of insights might come when Light and Space artists, including Phillip K. Smith III, are put in conversation with ancient Orthodox Christian concepts of the nativity and uncreated light? [source]
Milliner speaks for the first forty minutes, discussing Nativity and Transfiguration icons and their correlatives in the West and making, as always, fascinating connections between art of the past and present. For example, he overlays Olafur Eliasson’s Ephemeral Afterimage Star (2008) on Rublev’s Transfiguration icon (19:19), and Ann Veronica Janssens’s Yellow Rose on an Adoration of the Magi illumination from a fifteenth-century book of hours at the Getty (26:32). He also introduced me to a fascinating medieval manuscript illumination from Germany (which he in turn learned about through Solrunn Nes) that combines the light of Bethlehem and Tabor—two Gospel scenes in one. Don’t miss the quote by Gregory of Nazianzus.
Ann Veronica Janssens (Belgian, 1956–), Yellow Rose, 2007. Projectors, dichroic filters, and artificial mist, dimensions variable (min. 360 cm diameter, min. 250 cm depth). Museum Morsbroich, Leverkusen, Germany. Photo: Philippe De Gobert.The Nativity and the Transfiguration, from an Ottonian Gospel-book made in Cologne, 1025–50. Bamberg State Library, Msc.Bibl.94, fol. 155r.
Combining art history and theology (he has advanced degrees in both), Milliner’s talk is organized as follows:
Thessaloniki | Gregory Palamas (d. 1337)
Constantinople | Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (d. ca. 500)
Paris | Abbot Suger (d. 1151)
Los Angeles | Phillip K. Smith III (b. 1972)
+++
ART VIDEOS:
>> “A 60-second introduction to ‘The Nativity at Night’”: One of my favorite Nativity paintings! By fifteenth-century Dutch artist Geertgen tot Sint Jans, a lay brother in the religious order of St. John. In this video from the National Gallery in London, a camera scans over the painting as an atmospheric soundscape plays and captions guide us in looking at the details.
Geertgen tot Sint Jans (Dutch, ca. 1455/65–ca. 1485/95), The Nativity at Night, ca. 1490. Oil on oak, 34 × 25.3 cm. National Gallery, London.
>> “Mother and Child Commission”: In this twelve-minute “making of” video, filmmaker Nick Clarke talks to artist Nicholas Mynheer over the first half of 2020, tracing his progress on the life-size Mother and Child sculpture that was commissioned by the Community of St Mary the Virgin, Wantage, an Anglican convent in Oxfordshire. I was struck by, from the looks of it, the physical demands of the sculpting process—the strength and endurance required to chip away daily at blocks of stone outside in winter, until they yield the shape you desire, then the logistics of attaching the blocks with steel, which weigh nearly a ton collectively, and disassembling, transporting, and reassembling them for installation. I was also interested to hear Mynheer discuss the expressive capabilities of English limestone—how you can convey emotional and sartorial subtleties, for example, through the precise angling of the chisel.
Nicholas Mynheer (British, 1958–), Mother and Child, 2020–21. English limestone, height 230 cm.
Mother and Child was installed in the outdoor reception area of St Mary’s on April 12, 2021; you can watch a video of the installation here. “In very, apparently, simplified form, there is so much tenderness, energy, and something new,” says Sister Stella, the sister in charge, about the sculpture. “Jesus isn’t going to be held back. Her son’s going to go places.”
>> “Corazón Pesebre” (Heart Manger) by Rescate: A follower of the blog introduced me to this Christmas song from Argentina, and I dig it! Released as a single in 2017, it’s about turning our hearts into a manger to receive Christ. Read the Spanish lyrics in the YouTube video description.
The song is by the highly popular Argentinian Christian rock band Rescate, active from 1987 to 2020. Their lead singer and main songwriter, Ulises Eyherabide, died of cancer in July.
>> “Hallelujah, What a Savior!” (Christmas Version), performed by Providence Church, Austin, Texas: In 2012 Austin Stone Worship songwriters Aaron Ivey, Halim Suh, and Matt Carter rewrote the lyrics to Philip P. Bliss’s classic “Hallelujah, What a Savior!” to make them more Christmas-centered and added a new refrain; their version was released that year on A Day of Glory (Songs for Christmas). Here the song is performed by another Austin worship team—Jordan Hurst, Jaleesa McCreary, and Brian Douglas Phillips from Providence Church—for a virtual worship service on November 29, 2020. Instead of using the Austin Stone refrain, they quote Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” between verses.
When the Son of Man comes in his glory and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.
Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”
Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?”
And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” Then he will say to those at his left hand, “You who are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels, for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.”
Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not take care of you?”
Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment but the righteous into eternal life.
—Matthew 25:31–46
LOOK: The Last Judgment by Nathaniel Mokgosi
Nathaniel Mokgosi (South African, 1946–2016), The Last Judgment, 1980. Linocut. Source: Christliche Kunst in Afrika, p. 274
There’s a great day coming, A great day coming, There’s a great day coming by and by, When the saints and the sinners shall Be parted right and left— Are you ready for that day to come?
Refrain: Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready for the judgment day? Are you ready? Are you ready? For the judgment day?
There’s a bright day coming, A bright day coming, There’s a bright day coming by and by. But its brightness shall only come To them that love the Lord— Are you ready for that day to come? [Refrain]
There’s a sad day coming, A sad day coming, There’s a sad day coming by and by, When the sinner shall hear his doom, “Depart, I know ye not!” Are you ready for that day to come? [Refrain]
Texas-bred and New York–based, Snarky Puppy is a jazz-soul-funk music collective consisting of some twenty-five members in regular rotation. “At its core, the band represents the convergence of both black and white American music culture with various accents from around the world. Japan, Argentina, Canada, the United Kingdom, and Puerto Rico all have representation in the group’s membership.” The trumpeters for this song are Michael “Maz” Maher, Jon Lampley, Justin Stanton, Yay Yennings, Kyla Moscovich, and John Culbreth.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God . . .
It has a great, high wall with twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels, . . . and the twelve gates are twelve pearls. . . .
I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there. . . .
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.
—Revelation 21:1–2, 12, 21–25; 22:1–5
LOOK: The New Heaven by Leroy Almon
Leroy Almon (American, 1938–1997), The New Heaven, 1984. Carved wood, light bulbs, artificial pearls, glue, glitter, plastic letters, paint, 36 × 28 in. (91.4 × 71.1 cm). Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio. [object record]
This mixed-media depiction of heaven by African American folk artist Leroy Almon draws on imagery from the book of Revelation, showing centrally a crystal-bright river, the water of life, flowing forth from the mouth of God (Rev. 22:1–2). It courses through the paradisal scene, past the tree with its twelve fruits and healing leaves, and is pumped into twelve fountains, from which Black and white people drink together. Across lines of race, the new-city dwellers unite in worship, fellowship, and play. Notice the group of children with the ball in the bottom register!
For a framing device, Almon has used two wooden doors that bow out, as if the scene in all its fullness cannot be contained; as if the borders of the new city must bend to embrace the multitudes and their joy. The shape communicates an expansiveness that is the heart of God.
God is shown as majestic, mountain-like, and yet bearing a tender expression. The plastic beads on his forehead are printed with letters that read, “THE NEW HEAVEN,” and his eyes (not lit in this photo) are battery-powered light bulbs! He is, as John the Revelator tells us, the unending light dispelling all darkness.
Almon was born in 1938, so for about the first three decades of his life, he lived in a country where racial segregation was enforced legally in many states and socially in others. By and large, Blacks and whites were made to live in separate neighborhoods, attend separate schools, swim in separate pools, eat at separate restaurants, drink from separate water fountains, pass through separate public building entrances, wait in separate waiting rooms, sit in separate sections of the bus and the theater and even (woe is us) the church, and so on. Even after the passage of the Civil Rights Act in 1964, mandating desegregation, racial prejudices and hostilities continued to persist, as they do today. And because sinful human beings create and run systems (criminal legal, economic, educational, medical, etc.), it’s no surprise that the sin of racism can be found there as well.
Almon longed to see racial justice and (re)conciliation, and he knew Jesus has the power to make it happen. Almon’s preaching ministry went hand-in-hand with his art making. Through both, he shared the good news that Jesus, through his life, death, and resurrection, calls us to a new way of being in the world, which involves repentance of sin and turning to the divine light of love that knows no bounds. His New Heaven envisions a world saved and transformed by Christ’s love, where power is shared equally, forgiveness sought and granted, and friendship is the order of the day, as is a shared rejoicing in the greatness of God. In The New Heaven, Black and white praise Jesus side-by-side, eat at the tree of life together, and put their lips to the same bubbling fount of living water.
And not only are relationships healed and humanity restored to its original harmony in the new heaven, but also personal sorrows and hardships are no more. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, socially, we flourish in the light of God that never dims.
LISTEN: “Great Rejoicing” by Thad Cockrell, on To Be Loved (2009) | Performed by Rain for Roots, feat. Sandra McCracken and Skye Peterson, on Waiting Songs (2015)
There’s gonna be a great rejoicing (2×)
The troubles of this world Will wither up and die That river of tears made by the lonely Someday will be dry There’s gonna be a great rejoicing
There’s gonna be a great joy river (2×)
Questions of this world Someday will be known Who’s robbing you of peace And who’s the giver
There’s gonna be a great joy river
Someday you will find me Guarded in His fortress Open heart and wings That never touch the ground Someday we will gather In a grand reunion Debts of this old world Are nowhere to be found Nowhere to be found
There’s gonna be a great rejoicing (5×)
We are now halfway through Advent! Many of the songs featured in this Advent series, including today’s, appear on my Advent Playlist. I also have a companion Christmastide Playlist, which has been revised and expanded since last year to include some choral selections.
Antoine Alexandre Morel (French, 1765–1829), Saint Joseph (after Jean Baptiste Joseph Wicar), 1787. Etching and engraving, 12 5/16 × 9 1/4 in. (31.2 × 23.5 cm). Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Poor Joseph. His fiancée is pregnant, and the baby’s not his. What else is a man to think, but that she was unfaithful? The news cuts him like a knife. Why is Mary making up this ridiculous story about an angel and an overshadowing and divine seed? I mean, really. A complex stew of emotions simmers within him—anger, frustration, confusion, disappointment, embarrassment, sadness, disgust, fear.
In a rare type of iconography, the eighteenth-century French printmaker Antoine Alexandre Morel, copying a painting by Jean-Baptiste Wicar (which I’ve not been able to locate), shows Joseph in this distressed state of mind, cogitating over next steps. He’s seated at an open window in his woodshop, a cityscape visible in the background, holding a blank scroll. I’m assuming this is the writ of divorce he’s considering drawing up against Mary (Matt. 1:19). Rather than bring her to court on the charge of adultery and subject her to (potentially capital) punishment (Deut. 22:21 prescribes death by stoning for adulterers), the Gospel-writer tells us, Joseph opts to “put [Mary] away privily,” discreetly ending their betrothal with the legal paperwork. Joseph doesn’t want a spectacle, and he doesn’t want retribution. Though Mary hurt him deeply, he still cares for her.
A sprig of lilies lies across Joseph’s lap, alluding to an ancient legend that he was chosen from among other men to wed Mary by the miraculous blossoming of his staff. That the Roman Catholic Church assigns Hosea 14:5—“The just man shall blossom like the lily”—as one of the readings for Joseph’s feast day, March 19, further establishes the lily as his emblem.
This scene takes place shortly before Joseph receives an angelic visit of his own, corroborating Mary’s account.
Rumors are flying All over Galilee these days And Mary, I’m trying to be cool When my friends walk by ’em They cannot look at me in the eye Baby, I’m trying
You’re asking me to believe in too many things You’re asking me to believe in too many things
I know this child Was sent here to heal our broken time And some things are bigger than we know When somehow you find out That you are stepfather to a god Well, Mary, that’s life
But you’re asking me to believe in so many things You’re asking me to believe in so many things
Oh Mary, is he mine? (Mary, is he mine?) Mary, is he mine? (Mary, is he mine?) Oh Mary, is he mine? (Mary, is he mine?) Tell me, is he?
You’re asking me to believe in too many things You’re asking me to believe in too many things
Now, Mary, he is mine (Mary, he is mine) Mary, he is mine (Mary, is he mine?) Yeah, Mary, he is mine (Mary, he is mine)
You’re asking me to believe in so many things You’re asking me to believe in so many things
This song by the Canadian indie-rock band The New Pornographers (despite their unsavory name, their website is clean!) explores Joseph’s internal conflict in the weeks after learning of Mary’s pregnancy and her wild story of how it happened. The second stanza suggests that the angel has already appeared to him to affirm Mary’s integrity and that he has committed to staying the course with her. Yet still, he wavers between doubt and belief and continues to battle the shame of being publicly perceived as the cuckolded husband.
He asks repeatedly, “Is he [the baby] mine?” He eventually gets to the point where he takes ownership of his role as father, even though he didn’t contribute his genetic material. This isn’t how he wanted to build his family, but like Mary, he accepts the strange and terrifying calling.
The refrain (“You’re asking me to believe in too many things”) is voiced to Mary, but it also extends out to God. Joseph is asked to believe that the child inside his fiancée’s womb was conceived by the Holy Spirit, that the child is the long-awaited Messiah who will deliver Israel, that the child is in fact God enfleshed, that he and Mary are capable of parenting this God-boy, and that through all this newly charted territory, God will guide and sustain them, and everything will work out just fine. The magnitude of these asks is overwhelming! No wonder Joseph is reeling.
But thanks be to God that Joseph stepped forward in faith, bolstered, no doubt, by the faith of his partner and by the work of the Spirit in him. He didn’t understand it all, but he was willing to learn as he went, and to let God direct. What he did understand was that something bigger than his own dreams and life plans was at play here, and that something was worth following.
Art & Theology 